‡ ^noteKing Henry.
Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have some private conference; but be near,
For we shall presently have need of you.— [Ex. Lords.
I know not whether heaven will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done,
That in his secret doom, out of my blood,
He breeds revengement and a scourge for me;
But thou dost, in thy passages of life,
Make me believe that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heav'n,

To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires;
Such barren, base, such lewd, such mean attempts;
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?

P. Henry.
So please your Majesty, I wish I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse,
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge
Myself of many I am charg'd withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
I may for some things true (wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd, and irregular)
Find pardon, on my true submission.* ^note

K. Henry.
Heav'n pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supply'd;
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the Court, and Princes of my blood:
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had still kept loyal to possession,
And left me, in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir,
But like a comet I was wonder'd at!
That men would tell their children, This is he;
Others would say, Where? which is Bolingbroke?
But now there's not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;
Which now doth, what I would not have it do,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

P. Henry.
I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious Lord,
Be more myself.

K. Henry.
For all the world,
As thou art at this hour, was Richard then,
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg;
And ev'n as I was then, is Percy now.
Now, by my scepter, and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy interest to the state,
Than thou, the shadow of succession!
For, of no right, nor colour like to right,
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws;
And, being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient lords and rev'rend bishops on,
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got,
Against renowned Douglas!
Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars, in swathing-clothes,
This infant warrior, in his enterprises,
Discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once,
Enlarg'd him, and made a friend of him,
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up,
And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
Th' archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, and Mortimer,
Capitulate against us, and are up.
But wherefore do I tell this news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?
For thou art like enough, through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,
To fight against me under Percy's pay;
To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns,
To shew how much thou art degenerate.* ^note

P. Henry.
Do not think so! you shall not find it so!
And heav'n forgive them that so much have sway'd

Your Majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head,
And in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son;
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, washt away, shall scow'r my shame with it:
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet:
For every honour sitting on his helm,
Would they were multitudes, and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this Northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my Lord,
T'engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Or I will tear the reck'ning from his heart.
This, in the name of heav'n, I promise here;
The which if I perform, and do survive,
I do beseech your Majesty may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperature:
If not, the end of life cancels all bonds;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.* ^note

K. Henry.
A hundred thousand rebels die in this!
Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. Enter Blunt.
How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.

Blunt.
So is the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,
That Douglas and the English rebels met,

Th' eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a pow'rful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a state.

K. Henry.
The earl of Westmorland set forth, to-day,
With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old.
On Wednesday next, Harry, thou shalt set forward;
On Thursday we ourselves will march. Our meeting
Is at Bridgnorth; and, Harry, you shall march
Thro' Glo'stershire: By which, some twelve days hence,
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let's away,
Advantage feeds them fat, while we delay. [Exeunt.

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